Show Of Strength
by sixpetalpoppy
Summary: "I knew Draco's reputation, I spent enough time with my Gryffindor friends to have no delusions there, but - and I felt this quite resolutely - reputation held no place in the fifth floor girls toilet." 3 part Druna, AU.
1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy

* * *

I'm not ashamed to say I was crying in the bathroom stall when she found me; I've much to be ashamed of from that time, my tears are inconsequential in comparison. She floated into the room, it's funny how she gave off that impression, maybe I saw her that way because her life seemed so carefree at the time. It wasn't till later that I learnt she was far from carefree, she wouldn't be carefree for years - no thanks to my family. But the weightless contentment that I saw in her was something I envied and was drawn to like a Niffler to a shiny Sickle, when Luna Lovegood asked if there was anything she could do to help, I was lost immediately. I say I was lost, perhaps I was found, perhaps in that moment, that show of strength from a stranger, defined me as the man I've become.

People, Merlin, _I_, had always written her off as this bouncy, odd witch, untroubled by the day to day. A little thick - as if she weren't capable of realising the gravity of life - but I've always thought since that she did realise she just, unlike the rest of us, understood it and coexisted with it, rather than swim against the stream she accepted it as life and retained her happiness - she didn't try in vain repeatedly to fight the unfightable. Loved ones died and she accepted it, her ability to love went beyond the veil so death was merely a parting to her, not a finality. We could have all learnt from Luna. I say she didn't try to fight the unfightable, but she fought in the war, and it shows. I never thought I'd say it but I hate that she lost some of that eccentricity she had before the war, not much but enough, enough to show the strain, enough to prove that even she had been near beaten like the rest of us.

While Myrtle gawked, Luna stood in front of me and asked me if I was okay, if she could help. She didn't query why I was in a girls loo crying, she just offered help. That was so unreal to me. Help? I don't believe I'd ever had help in my life. But looking up at her, a tentative smile on her bright, ethereal face - I honestly believed she could save me.

So I told her all of it; every single word.

I told her about my task, the Dark Lord in our dining room, the Death Eaters, my father's scorn and she just sat and listened. I started sobbing again at one point and she tentatively wrapped an arm around my shoulder and it nearly broke me all over again. She was offering me comfort. Me, who'd bullied and teased, mocked and humiliated her. She was so wary of me but that didn't eclipse her glorious sense of kindness and so, as I poured my soul out to the first witch who'd ever offered to listen, I realised two things : one, I'd never hurt her again and two, this stupid war needed to stop.

I'd always thought Luna's problem, when I thought of her at all, was that she wasn't concerned about what people thought of her; in hindsight, I realise she was more concerned with what people thought of themselves. So here I was, the ultimate dilemma for her, I clearly thought that I was dirt and that didn't sit well with her. The thing is, I was an arsehole, but she wouldn't accept me as just an arsehole, I was an arsehole with potential, potential to become better than what I saw in the mirror.

"Draco," she said it softly, my harsh name transformed to something delicate from her lips, "we need to talk to Dumbledore."

The shock written across my face must have been comical, it was something I couldn't fathom, never had I considered approaching the man I was to kill, never had I considered help, I'd never considered Luna though either and that seemed to be working well at that moment.

"Dumbledore?" My voice croaked, my throat dry from sobbing and recounting the horrendous truth.

She squeezed me again, her arms enveloped my torso and my head was resting on her shoulder, my face in the cascade of silver blonde hair, a softer colour than my own. "Draco, talk to Dumbledore."

"How? Luna, I have to kill him, how can I talk to the man?"

"Easily, Draco. I'll go with you."

And she did, she helped me up - my legs buckled, numb from the cold tile - she was still holding my hand, it was a reassurance I could hardly comprehend, the warmth radiating from her dainty palm rejuvenated my entire self. Dropping my hand she reached up and brushed my hair into place with her slender fingers, my eyes following her movement amazed, she cupped my cheek with her palm, wiped the remaining tear trails away with the pad of her thumb, and leant in close to press a small kiss to my cheek. She had to go on tiptoes, she was so small, "come Draco, we'll do this together," and she led me from the stall.

"Would you like me to walk ahead?" she asked, "so we're not seen together, it would be strange." There was no accusation in her voice, no resentment towards our social differences; she would have only done what I was comfortable with in the halls of Hogwarts.

She left the room and I followed behind, she didn't really give me the option of walking with her, and I was grateful - I'm ashamed of it now but I couldn't have coped with the school revelation of my socialising with Luna as well as talking to Dumbledore in the same day.

* * *

Luna Lovegood

* * *

Draco Malfoy was kind of silly. It wasn't a personal slight against the boy, I thought most people were silly (myself included); silliness, I'd decided, was a human trait, a natural nuance of life and the more you fought silliness the sillier you became and the harder life got. So to embrace silliness, like I chose to do, was to embrace a certainty of life. Which seemed rather sensible to me.

To see him, foetal position and rocking lightly, you'd never recognise him as the Pureblood prince he acted, gone was the swagger, the rudeness, the insensitivity; replaced with a vulnerability that radiated from him. I knew Draco's reputation, I spent enough time with my Gryffindor friends to have no delusions there, but - and I felt this quite resolutely - reputation held no place in the fifth floor girls toilet. Before me was a boy, vulnerable and wrought, that was all that mattered and helping him was all that I could do, it was my nature.

The incredulous look he gave me when I offered was almost worth it all, the poor, silly boy, I could tell he thought it was a trick, it was written across his normally schooled face and, his lack of self-discipline and the verbal tide that was let lose found me propped up against the cubicle wall with him.  
He told me of Voldemort, his family, his vow, his mission; it shocked me, I can't say I expected that and it left me conflicted. What would my friends do if faced with this situation? Harry's response would be laughable, Ron's too, perhaps even Hermione's as well - would the witch be able to rise about the bullying and Malfoy's prejudice to help him? I wasn't sure. I had to though, I had to help him in his task, he had to succeed - I knew this, even if he didn't.

I said nothing, his remorse was palpable, I wrapped my arm around him, hesitantly, I may have been accepting of him at that moment but I wasn't a fool, contrary to popular belief. He collapsed into my arm and that was acceptance enough, I held him as he sobbed on the bathroom floor and I accepted him in return.

His face was a picture of grief, a boy so schooled in keeping his emotions in check had broken in front of me. His blonde hair out of place, tear stained and flushed cheeks, red rimmed eyes and the expression within them: this was a whole different boy. His eyes almost broke me, that was the moment for me when I knew I couldn't let him do this alone, the sheer unabashed hope in them was heart-breaking, the steely grey softened with emotion they rarely displayed. I brushed his hair from his face, it was softer than I imagined it to be and wonderfully fine, cupped his cheek - watching with humour as his eyes followed, scared by the alien interaction and disbelieving, I wiped the tears from his cheeks with my thumb, gently stroking his soft skin, and, raising myself higher on my toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek aware of his need for affection in this vulnerable moment. Affection I realised he'd rarely had without agenda.

I led him out the door speaking quiet assurances every now and again, he rarely responded and when he did it was in a hoarse, tired voice. I led the way, it wouldn't help him to be seen with me so I'd dropped his large, broom callused hand as we left the loo and continued on ahead, hoping he'd follow.

* * *

Draco Malfoy

* * *

"Murray mints, please," I heard her say to the gargoyle ahead of me; she spoke as if to a friend rather than an animated statue, a concept that fleetingly bemused me. She hesitated as the stairway opened up, waiting for me to join her in the ascent to the office I'd visited rarely. I could have sworn that I saw the gargoyle raise a non-existent brow, no doubt questioning her company. She just smiled that dreamy smile that people always dismissed her for; it was only then that I considered the dreamy smile to be a ruse to avoid unwanted conversations. Nobody would question her or argue if she appeared vacant enough, clever girl.

We climbed the stairs in silence but it wasn't strained, just relaxed and quiet, we stood close, the closest we'd been since the bathroom - a time that already felt like an age ago.  
"Luna?" I asked, but not sure of what I was asking, yet she seemed to understand. She entwined our hands again, a comfort, a weight, an anchor. Her being by my side was reassurance enough.

I didn't realise the time when we'd left but as the headmaster rose from his chair to meet us, jaunty nightcap in place, it occurred to me that it must have been late in the evening, almost curfew, I'd been in the bathroom since the end of lessons.

"Miss Lovegood, Mr Malfoy, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked with a genuine look of surprise on his face, I suppose we were the last pair he expected to see of an evening.

Luna looked to me, expectantly, but reluctance had found me on our trip across the school and I hesitated, despite her warm hand in mine.

"Professor, Draco has some things that I think you should hear." Her tone was insistent and I wasn't sure who that was directed to. Was she speaking to Dumbledore, asking him to take me seriously, be patient with me, despite my reputation and behaviour of late? Or me, was the insistence there to reassure me and encourage my tongue?

The headmaster considered me over steepled fingers, the blackened five contrasting with the pale white of the others, his glasses had slid to the point of his nose and I was struck by how tired the elderly man seemed. "Very well, Draco?"

With a reassuring look from Luna I opened up telling my story just like I'd told Luna mere hours before, but the second telling was harder than the first. I wasn't as comfortable recounting my tale to the headmaster as I was Luna. She had an air of uncompromising approachability while the professor didn't give all his emotions away in his personality, he was withdrawn, he didn't react, while Luna accepted above everything else.

When my tale had finished, I raised my head to meet the professor's gaze, in that moment I was scared. Scared he wouldn't have a solution, scared he wouldn't help and scared he'd persuade Luna to abandon me as a hopeless case of pure blood breeding that couldn't be cured of its bigotry. Instead he smiled at me; it was a tired smile, apologetic too, like he acknowledged the weight on my shoulders wouldn't lighten with any solution he had to offer. "Draco, I do believe you're going to have to kill me."

I stopped breathing. The shock of his statement hit me like a wave to the gut. A poisonous wave of bitter emotions, destructive, it stung and I struggled to breathe air into my lungs. Tears swelled in my eyes, this wasn't fair, I'd come to him! He was supposed to have a solution! He was supposed to make it _stop_! I looked at Luna accusingly but she was in a similar state to me, flabbergasted, she looked like she'd been struck across the face.

"He _can't_, professor! He can't kill you!" It was the first time I'd heard Luna raise her voice all day, of all the things she could have objected to, of all the admissions that could have sparked such passion, I was shocked that it was in defence of me that she yelled.

"So the pair of you think, but I'm very sure that if Mr Malfoy put his mind to it he would succeed." He was so calm, infuriatingly so, how could the man be so insouciant in the face of his demise?

"I don't _want_ to, professor! I don't want to have to kill you!" How could he not understand? I'd come to him for help but he was enabling the Dark Lord instead.

"And I am grateful for the sentiment, my boy! But I am dying and you have been told to kill me by Lord Voldemort and your killing me will be a solution to both of our problems!" He said it like it was a joke, he seemed genuinely happy that 'solutions' could be found so easily – as if it was easy.

"But, I can't-"

"Draco, you can. It's what your father has raised you to be-"

"But I don't _want_ to-" I raised my voice, trying to get the foolish man to comprehend that killing him, fulfilling the Dark Lord's wishes, was my last intention.

"Good! Now you're getting there, Draco. You can kill me, you're very capable, but that you don't want to is an admirable notion that you clearly haven't considered. Your desire to not kill me will be your redemption in this. Your unwillingness is vital to your humanity - never let that unwillingness go. However you'll still have to do your task, otherwise you'll have a much harder fight towards the light you've now chosen."

The room was hushed save for light, faked snores from the portraits of headmasters past. Luna had recovered, and I was envious of her ability to adapt for a second time that evening. I was speechless, not only was he encouraging the task I was so adamant not to complete, but he claimed it was necessary for me to do so before I could fight for good?

"How? Professor, how should Draco kill you? How can I help?"

"_No!"_ I said breaking out of my silence, adamant that Luna, perfect Luna, should not be an accessory in whatever dirty work my past had signed me up for. "Leave Luna out of this. Please. She's too good, professor."

She laughed at me then, not a cruel laugh, but it broke the tension. It actually made me doubt her sanity for the first time in the evening, perhaps they were both mad and perhaps I was mad to enable the pair. Her laugh though, it reassured me, that she could laugh in the face of this, it allowed me to conceive a way out of this storm, a promise of sunshine if I just sat it out. I think in that moment Dumbledore realised how I had changed and how willing I was to right myself.

"A simple killing curse will do the trick, my boy. No need to toy with riskier covert attempts anymore. I'll let you know when and pass your name on to some people, let them know you were doing good. That I'd asked you to intervene."

"I don't want recognition-"

"No, you don't, do you? But you may need it, it may save you and the contacts may prove useful in the future. I fear this won't be the last time you'll have to act for Voldemort before this war's out, Draco. Don't worry though, you have love, already I can tell. Luna cares for you, she'll help you through. Hold on to her."

He smiled at the pair of us, my cheeks flushed at his acknowledgement despite the gravity of the situation. Was this _love_? Already! It couldn't have been. Looking back I wish it was - for sentiments sake - but, in actuality, I think it was more of an awakening. Luna awoke in me a conscience, a sense of right and wrong that had never been taught to me, her faith in humanity gave me a sense of morality I'd never known but that I strived to realise even after a few long hours.

* * *

A.N. - Okay so this is a three-shot that I'm writing, it's been sitting in my phone for a week or two (or three) and I've finally finished up this first installment. The following two will come around eventually but it's my intention that they stand alone so there wont be any cliffies to contend with.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. I've upped the rating from 'T' to 'M' because of this chapter's language and violence. I also directly quote good ol' JK in places so feel inclined to point out, again, that I own nothing in relation to Harry Potter (although I do have a nice green Quidditch t-shirt from Marks and Spencers circa 2000).

* * *

Luna Lovegood

* * *

The train went dark, and then it stopped, and then the screaming started. We all knew, we may have been children but we weren't ignorant to the happenings of the war. We all knew what was happening. They were here for someone, someone's child, someone would be taken. I was sat next to Ginny, her red hair a beacon even though the lights were out; there was still visible light in the train, the sun was setting outside and the compartment was awash with the red light. She looked at me, fear plain on her face, the risk of the Order and the day to day weighed down on her in that moment more than I'd ever seen her effected.

"Ginny, in the trunk, quick!" I said, motioning to the open trunk at our feet. I hastily cast an expansion spell and watched as she folded her slender body into the dark confines of box. My friend had never looked as young and scared in that moment and I'd never felt so driven to protect her.

The Death Eaters were coming now, I could hear them, the banging of doors and spells announcing their approach better than any bugle. The case shut and I levitated it onto the rack, as if it'd never been down in the first place, hoping to Merlin they'd never check it.  
The door swung open and a man with narrow eyes and a bleeding cut on his forehead peered in at me, his face, covered in blood, in the setting sun seemed menacing, it made the smile that spread across his scarred face even more frightful.

"Found her," he called and I was shocked, how could they know Ginny was in the trunk? How could they know? She was hidden! She was out of sight!

It's funny but we never even considered they could be after me.

* * *

Draco Malfoy

* * *

We'd kept away from each other since that first night in the girls toilets. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of us, after that night I had to put up my guard again; I had to be Draco Malfoy the Death Eater. Luna knew, I could tell, she smiled at me sometimes, an open smile, full of light - a reminder of what I wanted to fight for. She was a light that needed to be cherished, saved, revered rather than crushed by Voldemort's cancerous savagery.

When she didn't return after the Christmas holidays, I was relieved. Her father must have pulled her out of school - like so many other parents had. It was a weight off my shoulders, knowing that she would be safe at home; safe in her quirky world, away from the terrors of it all.

At first, I didn't know she was there. That's not as surprising as it may sound, it's a big manor and, given the Dark Lord's occupancy, I wasn't inclined to visit the cellar. To see her though, when I was sat around the table, surrounded by Death Eaters, slung like a rag doll mercilessly onto the stone floor, it was a wonder I maintained my composure; and I hate myself for it. To be so well trained that you don't react when the woman you love is thrown at the feet of Voldemort? It's not a capability that I'm proud of.

The difference between the Luna before me then and the one I'd seen before Christmas was shocking, she must've been snatched from the train, she'd been at Malfoy manor for so long and I hadn't realised. I was suddenly sad that I'd flooed home, as if there was something I could have done when they stormed the Express. Her hair, which I remembered as being soft and light (almost translucent) was dry, dirty and matted. Her face was gaunt from months of Death Eater, no, _Malfoy_, hospitality.

"Luna Lovegood, do you know why you're here?" The Dark Lord spoke, his voice slithered through the cold room, it snuck up on you, quiet yet forceful, you couldn't help but hear it.

She was silent, her eyes still adjusting to the light of the room, she was squinting and I realised this must be the first natural light she'd seen in an incomprehensible amount of time.

"Yes." Her voice was small, strained, hoarse, like it had been used sparingly, yet still, although she seemed almost broken, I could hear the defiance in her. The defiance of a witch prepared to fight for her beliefs. I loved and hated her for it. At that moment I fleetingly considered throwing it all in, the sparse Order work I'd done since the previous summer meant nothing then, I'd throw it all away for her, let her go and I'd tell them anything they wanted.

"Miss Lovegood is a pure-blood, her father runs the Quibbler, tell everyone why you're here Luna." I cringed at the Dark Lord's mocking tone, recognising it as a precursor to his cruelty.

"My father supports Harry Potter," she said, a wry smile on her face that caused anger to spark through my veins, why was she smiling? Why bait him? Didn't she know what he could _do_?

"Why are you smiling? What's so funny?" His anger permeated through the hall, we all shook upon hearing his tone, all of us except Luna.

"Don't you think it's silly? Holding a sixteen year old girl hostage, just because of a few newspaper articles in a paper everyone dismisses. It seems you're paranoid, I think that's silly." To anyone else she would have sounded dim in that moment, but there was a faint lilt in her tone, she was defying Voldemort by refusing to be scared. She was fighting him with her words, with her refusal to bend to his oppression.

"And why's that?" the Dark Lord asked, his tone wary now, Luna had unnerved him, she wasn't what he'd expected.

"Paranoia stems from self-doubt. You doubt yourself and punish others for it but this just proves you're paranoid and gives your followers reason to doubt _you_; which in turn makes you more paranoid... It's a circle. It's funny."

The room was silent. Nobody would look at the Dark Lord or each other. I held my breath, I couldn't move, scared for what was about to happen. I hated myself for being so cowardly, for not stepping in. She was staring him down when he raised his wand, looking down at her, his face grave, "I am not paranoid, Luna Lovegood."

"No?" I cringed at the genuine surprise in her voice. "You sure seem it."

"_Crucio_!"

I watched as she fell to her knees, screaming out unwillingly, her fists balled up smashed against the stone, cold floor. She screamed again, it tore through me, I knew what she was feeling, like she was being stabbed repeatedly by burning, serrated needles throughout her body, a pain that was infinite. Her throat, dry as it was, couldn't take the screams and they stuttered from her in grating gasps. The moment when he released her from the curse was obvious, she collapsed in on herself. While before she had been holding herself on the floor rigid, braced against the pain, the relief of its absence had her embracing the cold stone, as if trying to sink in to the soothing chill.

"Do you still think I'm 'silly', Luna Lovegood?"

She laughed, but it sounded more like choking, the noise from her small frame was a relief to me. "Perhaps 'silly' wasn't the right word," she told him, coughing weakly.

He turned his back on her, facing us, his Death Eaters, once more. "Wormtail, take her back downstairs. You see what foolish defiance I still must face? It is cumbersome, but it must be stamped out. Take this as a reminder, my friends, of what happens to those who defy Lord Voldemort."

It was the early hours of the morning when the hall had finally cleared enough for me to gain access to the cellar. Bellatrix had stayed up late, plotting and moaning, lamenting the lack of attention she'd received during this latest visit. A simple Alohomora opened the door, Pettigrew was too jumpy to be capable of much else in his current state, and I crept into the low room, a lumos lighting my way.

"Luna? Where are you?" I asked, my voice hushed and desperate.

"Draco?" she croaked back from a corner. I recognised the frail, unconscious body of Ollivander across from her in the opposite corner, both sat as far away from the entrance as possible. "What are you doing down here? Are you mad?!"

"Luna, I didn't know, I had no idea you were here. Not until today, not until I saw-"

"I know, Draco. It's okay."

"No. No it bloody well isn't okay, Luna. He tortured you! You must've been here for months! I didn't know! I would have done something!"

"Like what, Draco? Rescued me? What good would that have achieved?"

"You'd be safe! I wouldn't worry!"

"Draco, you weren't worried in the first place, you didn't know I was here."

"I thought you were safe. I thought your father had pulled you out of Hogwarts, else I'd have looked for you. I wouldn't have left you for dead, tortured, in my own fucking cellar, Luna."

"I'm sorry, I'm just. Well, you know. I feel quite stuck here, Draco and I don't like it."

"The way you talked to him up there, Luna, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"No, I'm trying to stand for what I believe in, you should give it a go." It felt like she'd slapped me.

"Fuck, Luna."

"I'm sorry, Draco, I'm so sorry. I know you're fighting, I know you're doing what you can. Please, don't do anything stupid just because of me."

"Just because of _you_? Are you mad? Everything I do is for you! Everything I've done since last summer, when you _saved_ me, it's all been for _you_! You woke me up, Luna. You opened my eyes, you made me realise how wrong this whole damned thing is!"

"I appreciate that, Draco but-"

"Shut up. Don't 'appreciate me', use me. What do you _need_, Luna? How can I help?"

She laughed at me then, properly, not a laugh tinged with bitterness but the happier trill that I remembered. "Well, isn't this familiar?"

I sighed, and pulled her to me, her frail body skeletal in my arms. I held her tight, scared of the past and future but content in the moment we could share. I pressed my lips to her dirty hair, too desperate to comfort her to care. She relaxed into my arms, despite her chains, I felt tears drop slowly onto my bare arm and I held her tighter, desperate for her to feel loved in this cold, horrid prison.

"Do you need anything? Food? Water? What can I get you, Luna?"

"Water would be good, please."

I transfigured my wristwatch into a cup and used Aguamenti to fill it for her; she leant against me as I guided the water to her lips so she could drink slowly. I cast my mind back to the year before, when she'd been the one comforting me, trying to remember her actions. I was so unused to comforting or being comforted I fleetingly worried that I was doing it wrong. When she was finished drinking, I cupped her face in my palm and scrutinised her carefully, her eyes were dull, her lips chapped and her face a flatter kind of pale; I muttered a nourishment spell to rejuvenate her somewhat. It wasn't an adequate treatment for her malnourishment by any means, and it subtracted from my own body's health, but it would be better than nothing until I could get her food and out of her cell.

"Luna, you're going to have to tell me, have my family done anything to you?"

"Just the cruciatus curse occasionally, your Aunt is fond of it. Don't worry, Draco. They've not broken me."

"Just Bellatrix and the Dark Lord? What about my mother? My father?"

"Draco, will it really help knowing?"

"Yes. I need to know who has cursed you. I need to know if he's hurt you."

"Your father used cruciatus on me, once, when I first got here."

"Thank you."

"Don't do anything silly-"

"I thought we were all silly, Luna?"

"Oh, hush," and she kissed me. It took me by surprise, still sat in my arms she lifted herself just enough to press her lips against mine forcefully. I lowered my head, allowing her to settle back down, and kissed her back, responding in kind. She relaxed into my arms and we sat like that for a while, kissing softly in the low light of the cellar, reassuring each other. Neither of us wanted the moment to end, neither of us wanted to resurface where we'd have to face the trials of the war yet again. That moment was enough to reassure me of my cause, enough to remind me of why I was fighting for good; it wasn't that I'd had doubts, I was just so tired. So tired of all the killing, the fighting, even the limited amount I was exposed to at Hogwarts was too much for my mind and my heart.

"Luna Lovegood, I'm going to get you out of here, you know that? I promise you."

"Pan, it's Smaug, can you hear me?" I yelled as quietly as I could, my head stuck into the fireplace in my bedroom. The Order had ensured it was isolated for emergencies last summer, they'd theorised that, given my position in Malfoy manor, I could pass along important information to the chosen contact almost as soon as they realised how advantageous I could be. I'd never begrudged them it, or their proclivity to secrecy concerning all interactions with me; who could blame them, really?

They'd given me the codename 'Smaug' with a laugh; it was supposedly funny, although I hadn't worked out why yet. I assumed it was a Muggle reference though, I'd resolved to work it out at a time when reading Muggle literature was less likely to endanger my health. 'Pan' was my regular contact, he was who I spoke to through the fire, and the illegal floo connection was wired so that it was only two-way between him and me. He was a crotchety fellow, quite passive too, whatever information I relayed was often met with cynicism and scepticism. He clearly believed this war to be unwinnable, and I resented him for it, but he was my only contact; the only other fighting with me in this war, so I relished his morose ways and strived to prove them wrong with more information and more reason to fight. His passivity pushed me forward in my fight for good.

"Smaug? What do you want now, boy, bothering me in the early hours, it better be good…" he grumbled, I didn't begrudge him for it though, it was oddly comforting and familiar in my hour of distress. With Luna in danger it felt like my world was about to be turned upside down again, yet he, reassuringly, remained a git.

"Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter and Ollivander are here, they've been here for a while, they need out." I tried to remain impartial when talking of Luna, it was a reflex, only she and Dumbledore had ever known what I would sacrifice for her; I'd insisted that the Order were to never be made aware of the cause of my revelation, lest they use her against me. I was reformed, not an idiot.

"Oh, they need out do they? And I suppose you think I'm just going to pop over to Malfoy Manor and spring them? Easy as that?"

"Don't be a prick, Pan. I'm letting you know about two well valued hostages-"

"How do you know they're well valued?" he asked, scoffing at my words.

"Well, she's still alive and the other's Ollivander – that enough for you?"

"Don't get cocky with me, Smaug."

"Well don't you dismiss me, Pan! I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important, I know the risks. I watched the girl get crucio'd today, Ollivander is skin and bone, neither of them are going to last much longer in our bloody cellar."

"Fine, fine, I'll get in contact with the higher ups and we'll work out a way to get them out. Give me twenty-four hours, I'll floo you same time tomorrow. Sleep tight, Smaug."

"Thanks, Pan. You too."

"Yeah, yeah."

I sighed as I pulled my head out of the warm fireplace, the flames now turning back to their flickering, natural orange. I'd done all I could do, as much as I hated to admit it. Springing Luna and the older wizard (who I wouldn't be able to leave, even if Luna would let me) would endanger everything I'd worked for in the past year and she'd hate me for it. I knew she wouldn't let me save her life if it meant I wouldn't be in the position to do the same for others in her place.

Bellatrix was screaming when I awoke the next morning. This surprised me for two reasons: firstly, because it woke me at all (I'd unfortunately become accustomed to my aunt's behaviour, screaming included); secondly, because the screaming was of a somewhat triumphant nature and Bellatrix Lestrange was rarely particularly triumphant at ten in the morning.

The scene I discovered in the hall though was something stranger than a jovial Bellatrix. Potter & Co, a goblin and Greyback were being peered at by my father while my aunt skipped around screaming of the glory and splendour she would no doubt receive from the Dark Lord himself.

She saw me enter the room and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders (not that Bellatrix knew any other way), "Draco! Draco, boy, tell him! Tell your father, this is _Potter_, yes?"

It clearly was Potter. No hurried stinging jinx could hide the features I'd seen for the past six long years on a daily basis, and besides, Weasley and Granger were immediately identifiable. Yet I hesitated, I wanted to seem unsure, I wanted to buy time. Luna would be rescued today, I hoped, tomorrow at the latest. It would not do well to have the Dark Lord return and pay more attention to the Manor than necessary. I also didn't want Voldemort to capture the three in front of me; I was a member of the Order now, to let Harry Potter and cohorts become captured was a cardinal sin (although I hated him a fair bit), I also realised how fundamental he was to the downfall of the Death Eaters and the end of this bitter madness. "I don't know," I told my aunt, aware of how pathetic it sounded. If I could plant the seed of doubt in her erratic mind, cause her to hold her haste, perhaps I could get them out as well.

My mother, now having joined me in my scrutiny of the trio, recognised Granger immediately, "look Draco! Isn't this the Granger girl?"

"The Mudblood!" cried my aunt, "yes!"

"I'm… not sure," I replied, aware now that Granger was looking at me funny. I hoped she'd cotton on; hoped that she would realise I was trying to help and not hinder my efforts. What I needed was to get out again, to get upstairs and use my floo, with Harry Potter here this would change everything. Pan would need to act immediately; Potter couldn't stay here any moment longer than he had to.

"But this boy! He's a Weasley!"

"Well, yes father, but there are _so_ many…" I replied, tactfully making sure my voice was droll and yet still able to install doubt. Doubt and tact would be paramount in ensuring their safety.

"Stop!" shrieked Bellatrix, the mood of the room changing, the shrill shriek juxtaposed with the jovial ramblings of mere minutes ago. My aunt's attention was no longer on the trio before us but the sword clutched in an anonymous Snatcher's hands. "Cissy, Lucius, we have a problem," she said, pointing at the sword with a semblance of fear that I never knew she was capable of written on her pale, gaunt face.

I didn't understand, of course, I wasn't privy to the majority of my families Death Eater activities. My mother was overprotective, she tried to keep me away from the most immoral of Voldemort's behaviours (ironically); while my father still didn't deem me entirely worthy of the knowledge that came with a grown Malfoy man. They'd sent Potter and Weasley to the cellar while Granger would have to stay up here to be 'questioned'. I didn't need to see this. This was my chance to escape upstairs to the fire, I could message Pan, he would stop this before it went too far. Before the Dark Lord was summoned and before Granger, Weasley, Potter and possibly Luna would all be killed.

My father took a moment to look at me with contempt as I left, clearly assuming that I was too weak to appreciate a good Mudblood torturing. I ignored his disapproval though, it was something I'd resolved to years before and, in all honesty, his approval was not synonymous with moral behaviour in my mind.

As the screams of Hermione Granger rang through the cold stone of Malfoy Manor I threw myself down on my knees in front of the already burning fireplace and threw floo powder hastily into the burning orange, waiting briefly for it to change colour before I thrust my head forward into their warm depths.

"PAN," I screamed, no longer prudent about my own secrecy and safety, "PAN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, MAN!"

"What?!" he barked at me, as he finally appeared, wearily, in front of my face in the flames.

"Potter, he's here. He's in Malfoy manor. Snatchers got him, Granger and Weasley. They haven't called the Dark Lord, not yet, but they will soon. You need to act, now!"

The pretense that he'd held for so long, one of frustration and vague tolerance, vanished instantaneously. "Out. Go. I'll do something. If you can, keep your cover and try to make sure none of your family kill anyone," the last words were pointed, Granger's screams had punctuated the floo call, I marvelled at how well the sound had travelled.

There was nothing more to say, I pulled my head out and hurried back down the stairs, hoping to relieve Granger in some way without revealing my turncoat status.

Granger's cries had finished by the time I'd returned to the room, she lay like a doll on the floor and, although she was dark haired and taller, all I could see was the image of Luna in the same position, after the same treatment yesterday. How in Merlin's name had we got to this?

"Draco, fetch the goblin," my father told me, as I stood to the side assuming the position I'd have taken if I'd never left. He didn't acknowledge my arrival, just gave me my instructions.

I marched into the cellar, refusing to look at Potter, Weasley or Luna; I had a purpose, I had an act to uphold, I needed the goblin. I seized him roughly, rougher than I'd have liked, and escorted him swiftly up the stairs to be presented to a rattled Bellatrix.

"_CRUCIO_!" screamed Bella, and I tried not to cringe away, aware of my father's eyes upon me.

The memories of yesterday, of Luna lying with the same curse rattling through her body, the same curse attentively searing her every nerve made me gag; I had to try very hard not to vomit right there in the hall. Her screams were different to Luna's though, shriller, surprisingly. Luna's voice had broken and her screams were uncharacteristically guttural and rough, Hermione's were higher, punctuated with throaty gasps and moans that in any other context would have made a man blush. It was these little things that I focused on to avert my mind from the reality of the situation, to remain stoic and undeterred I made these detached comparisons. It must seem cold, I realise now, to know that I stood there, letting this happen, making comparisons in the tortured screams of two women; but it was the only way that my seventeen year old self could cope. I had to compare, I had to acknowledge the differences, else I wouldn't have been so acutely aware that this was a product of the same thing. Of bigotry. I needed to reduce the pain of the woman I loved to be equal with the pain of a woman I detested (or maybe it was the other way round?) so that I could comprehend in my tiny brainwashed mind that it was all the same. Luna and Hermione were equals. That Hermione Granger was Muggleborn paid no difference in the effect of the cruciatus curse, she was a woman just like the woman I loved, they were equal in every way that counted; she didn't deserve this pain either.

Faintly I heard a noise in the cellar and, although I couldn't fathom how it had occurred, my hopes briefly soared just to crash violently to their demise when my father instructed Wormtail to investigate. The spineless bastard would report any irregularity to my father immediately.

Bellatrix had stopped torturing Granger by now, her attentions diverted back to the mysterious sword, allowing me to pay closer attention to the state of the witch. She hardly moved, although this was not as worrying as it may seem; the cruciatus curse drains the victim of their energy, so much of their efforts go into fighting and bracing against the unfightable scouring pain that they're left somewhat drained afterwards.

"We can dispose of the Mudblood…" mused my aunt.

At that suggestion all hell broke loose. Weasley and Potter charged into the room, armed, and looking for a fight. I sent out stunners, purposefully missing the pair who I hoped would go easy on me, but doubted it. I fleetingly considered asking Pan to send a memo to Potter telling him I was on side next time we spoke.

"The Dark Lord is coming," Bellatrix announced and my body went cold. Colder than it had ever been in this cold, heartless house; at that moment I knew that when the Dark Lord arrived there would be hell to pay, for he would have his vengeance against Potter and he would make it sweet. He would hit Potter where it would hurt him hardest, with his friends; Luna would be included, without a doubt. He would certainly try and break Luna in front of her friends for fun, especially after her stubborn defiance.

A tinkling sound, a creaking and then another tinkling; it was so surreal. In that horrible harsh moment this light chiming sound rang through the room like a doorbell announcing a guest. Ironically the simile was somewhat accurate. I looked up (that was a mistake) just as the grand chandelier came crashing from the ceiling, glass rained down upon my face, feathering me with sharp kisses that drew blood. Harry took the wands from my hand but I was too distracted by the searing sweet pain, a pain I felt I deserved, to care or to help him. My mother pulled me away, smothering me with unwanted protection at the worst moment as usual. As Dobby appeared to take the trio I briefly considered asking for my own release as well, although I realised later that I would have been denied simply because they all assumed I was on the wrong side still – I really needed to get Pan to send that memo.

They disappeared with another crack, but not before my Aunt had got the last word with her knife, as she was so prone to do. The knife, the goblin and the trio disappeared into thin air leaving a level of chaos so rarely seen in the refined Malfoy household. Voldemort arrived then, a blaze of anger, furious at the deception. My family and I felt his full wrath that evening and I finally found my moment of absolution. I had suffered watching Luna feel this pain, Hermione had felt it at the wand of my aunt and I had done so little to intervene; then it was my turn, and I deserved every scorching second.

* * *

Luna Lovegood

* * *

After months in the dark and musty cellar of Malfoy manor, Shell Cottage was, quite literally, a breath of fresh air. I don't know if it was the air or just being free but I healed quickly in that place. Bill and Fleur's kindness brought me to tears on several occasions, it was so alien to interact with others after so long in that cellar that it shook me frequently. It wasn't until the day that Harry, Ron and Hermione left that I inquired to Bill about Draco, I felt quite sure that he'd had a hand in our escape but was unaware of how much he'd done; I still wasn't comfortable with talking in front of my friends about the wizard though, it wasn't the right time for his role to be revealed.

"Bill, how did the Order know to rescue us?" I breached the subject that morning after breakfast, no longer able to rein my curiosity in.

"We, um, we have an informant in the manor; they gave us the heads up," he replied awkwardly, not wanting to reveal too much about Draco's part either.

I couldn't help but wonder, "has he… has he been doing a lot of 'informing'?" I'd trusted that he'd been doing the right thing for so long, but in that moment, with the possibility of talking about Draco to someone for the first time, I had to ask.

He grinned at me, "I never said it was a 'he', Luna."

I didn't even pretend to be abashed, "so you know, I know, so tell me. How did he get us out of the manor?"

He put his mug of tea down, sighing tiredly, "yesterday morning, in the early hours, he contacted his handler. You and Ollivander were held in the cellar of Malfoy manor and we had to come free you immediately. We were working on it, I promise you, but then yesterday morning he made contact again, Harry, Ron, Hermione and a goblin had been brought in by Snatchers. That changed things, I admit, suddenly subtlety was no longer a priority. His contact checked that Harry was where he said he was, he has the other half of Harry's two-way mirror, and promptly sent Dobby over and the rest you know."

"What's happened to him now? Has anyone heard from him?"

"Yes, You-Know-Who showed up shortly after you got out. He spoke to his contact last night." There was a clear sense of finality with Bill's words, he wasn't going to divulge any more to me today, it would be Draco's job to fill me in on what had happened after I'd left, and I was fairly sure he wouldn't want to.

* * *

I tried to keep this as canon as possible in places however I did need to tweak things to work with my storyline so it does get quite AU, but then, Druna is AU so it should be expected somewhat. I hate rewriting/reading rewritten scenes though so I tried to keep the direct similarities interesting. I also had to upgrade the rating from 'T' to 'M', it just seemed like I was really treading the line between the two ratings with this chapter and I decided to err on the side of caution – and to err is to be human, after all. As I've said in 'Don't Think Twice' I've got internet problems at the moment so, bear with me for the next and final chapter of this, I do hope you've enjoyed it though, it's a lonely ship!

Pan and Smaug? I had to. They're very easy to work out, I assume you have already. The Hobbit is one of my favourite books though, it was reference I couldn't deny myself.


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